


And it's fucked up, but I'm falling (falling in love with you)

by Atlanta_Black



Series: And it's fucked up, but I'm falling verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BAMF Ginny Weasley, Bisexual Harry Potter, Bisexual Tom Riddle, Canon Rewrite, Death, F/M, Fate, Horcruxes, Legends, M/M, Polyamory, but damn it was worth it, myths, this got so out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 08:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanta_Black/pseuds/Atlanta_Black
Summary: It’s less fact and more legend. Secrets whispered at night. A story that feels like religion.The muggleborns listen and rolls their eyes. Say no, that’s rubbish. Of course, that’s not true.The purebloods raise their eyes heavenward and cover their mirrors with runes.Harry feels hope curl up under his ribs the first time he hears the stories. Listens to Ron whisper about fate, about soulmates. About, there is someone out there for everyone. Someone who will be perfectly suited for you.Later, much later, he’ll hear a prophecy and feel the word fate turn to dust in his mouth. Wonder if even a soulmate will make him forget that he has no choice....AKA: that poly, soulmate fic that literally no one asked for (oops)





	And it's fucked up, but I'm falling (falling in love with you)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [October_Flash_Fest_Part_One](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/October_Flash_Fest_Part_One) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> When coming of age, they say it is possible to see your soulmate's face reflected in a mirror. 
> 
> Harry only sees his for one second, but it is a face he instantly recognizes from when he was 12-years old and a soul piece was draining Ginny's life away.  
.  
.  
.  
soooo, I think uhhh technically this prompt was just supposed to be tomarry but then this happened. So uh, if you don't like poly fics I'm sorry and if you do then fuck you're welcome???
> 
> tbh it was supposed to end in angst anyways but welp, they decided it was gonna be a happy ending so also you're welcome. 
> 
> i really hope you enjoy it!!!!!!

It’s less fact and more legend. Secrets whispered at night. A story that feels like religion. 

The muggleborns listen and roll their eyes. Say _ no, that’s rubbish. Of course, that’s not true. _

The purebloods raise their eyes heavenward and cover their mirrors with runes. 

Harry feels hope curl up under his ribs the first time he hears the stories. Listens to Ron whisper about fate, about soulmates. About, there is someone out there for everyone. Someone who will be perfectly suited for you. 

Later, much later, he’ll hear a prophecy and feel the word fate turn to dust in his mouth. Wonder if even a soulmate will make him forget that he has _ no choice. _

Even later, he’ll look in a mirror and think _ oh, of course. Of course fate would still have it out for me. _He’ll feel the hope that had still been blooming under his ribs wither. 

Ginny will find him sitting on the floor, back to the bed, staring at the ceiling. She’ll have anger hidden in her eyes and a barely there tremble running through her limbs. 

_ I guess in a way, in a sick twisted way, we are each other's soulmate. _ She’ll choke out, eyes bright with grief, with pain. _ Who else in the world is going to see him except for us? _

But before all that. Before the flowers in his chest turned to thorns. There was a legend. A myth. Trouble by the same name. 

Remember, all legends came from somewhere. All myths hold a bit of truth. 

But before all that. There was a boy. 

.

.

.

He’s eleven years old. Still wide eyed and little bit too naive. Still a little too trusting even though he’s grown up sleeping in a cupboard. Still a little too gullible considering all that he’s going to go through. 

Eleven years old and he listens to Ron with shining eyes. Feels hope blossom in his chest and imagines the flowers that bloom there are the same color as his soulmates eyes. 

“There’s a legend,” Ron whispers, eyes shining with childish excitement. “It says that on your seventeenth birthday, when the sun is at its highest point, look in a mirror and you’ll see your soulmate.”

The flowers bloom, twisting their way between his ribs and he laughs, a bright happy noise birthed by the hope still clinging tight to his bones. 

.

.

.

In a world still shadowed by darkness, by war, another boy hears the story of soulmates and thinks _ yes, mine _ . Thinks _ birthright, someone who will belong entirely to me. _

It isn’t quite hope that blooms in his chest but it is something similar. Something like _ please, please let me belong, even if it is only with one person. _

He hears the rumors and finds himself watching people. Wondering who could possibly be good enough that they’re _ his _. Traces the shape of his bones and wonders if his soulmate will fit inside them perfectly.

.

.

.

.

“Lord Voldemort is my past, present and future.” the boy who calls himself Tom Riddle says, looking down at Harry with contempt. 

Harry stares up at him from the floor. He’s filthy, soaking wet, eyes too big in his face and thinks _ no. _“He may be your present and your future,” he says, voice shaking. “But your past is all you. Is just Tom Riddle.” 

Tom stares, eyes dark and unreadable. “You know nothing, Harry Potter.” he says, voice low. 

Harry smiles gently. “I wish you had stayed Tom Riddle.” he murmurs, closes his eyes. “You would have been great.” 

There’s a beat of silence and Harry opens his eyes to see Tom staring at him, features frozen in shock. Thinks maybe he sees the beginning of regret blooming on his face. 

Tom shakes himself though and the emotion disappears. “I hope you enjoy the dark, Harry Potter.” he snarls, “Because you are going to die down here.” 

Before Harry can say anything else he summons the basilisk. Later, after Ginny has woken up and he’s caught his breath, he stares down at the diary and feels something in his chest wither. 

Even later he closes his eyes and dreams of Tom Riddle, sitting on a cliff, hair blowing in the wind. 

_ I’m sorry. _ The dream boy whispers. _ I’m sorry that I figured it out too late. _

Harry wakes up sobbing, grief clutching at his heart. He meets Ginny’s red rimmed eyes the next morning and they share a brief moment of understanding before going their separate ways. 

.

.

.

.

_ Mudblood _ they whisper. You’ll never amount to anything. Never go anywhere in life. In fact, I bet your blood is such mud that you don’t even have a soulmate.

He hates them. _ Hates, hates, hates them. _ Can’t wait to meet his soulmate and prove them all wrong. Can’t wait till he has them all on the floor, groveling for forgiveness.

_ They’ll understand _. His soulmate will understand. 

.

.

.

.

By the time Voldemort rises from the cauldron most of the flowers blooming in Harry’s chest have withered. Not because he doesn’t believe in soulmates but because he doesn’t think he’ll live long enough to meet them. 

Cedric is lying cold on the ground and Harry’s heart is threatening to beat out of his chest. The gravestone still cold against his back but curiously, there’s no fear.

Maybe because compared to the shade that had threatened him in first year, this being standing in front of him was _ nothing. _ Compared to the grief that had threatened to overwhelm him after the incident in the chamber, Voldemort barely phased him. 

The being that calls itself Voldemort stares at Harry with contempt. The expression so familiar, even on this face, that for a moment the grief threatens to bubble over again. 

Voldemort meets his eyes for a split second and the contempt gives way to confusion. 

“You dare pity me?” he hisses, voice wavering between english and parseltongue. “Me? The greatest wizard since Salazar Slytherin?” 

Harry laughs, the sound sharp and loud in the stillness of the graveyard. He sees a death eater to his left flinch at the sound. _ Weak _he thinks. Wonders what Voldemort sees in these people who follow him so blindly. 

“Once upon a time maybe you could have become the greatest wizard since the founders.” he says, leans forward, straining against his bonds. “But that option died when Tom Riddle did.” 

That same dark, unreadable look he remembers from Tom’s eyes enter Voldemort’s. For a moment they stare at each, the uneasy rustling of the death eaters robes the only noise in the quiet of the night. 

“You said something like that to me once before.” Voldemort murmurs, tilts his head. “You still know nothing, Harry Potter.” 

The bottom seems to drop out of Harry’s stomach. “You shouldn’t remember that.” he whispers, voice gone hoarse with shock. 

Voldemort doesn’t answer, merely turns away and begins talking to his death eaters. He can see some of them still nervously glancing between him and Voldemort. 

Later, when he’s lying in the hospital wing alone, he’ll wonder what it means that Voldemort remembers that.

He dreams of Tom again. Tom, standing by the Black Lake, hair whipping around his face in the wind. Tom stares at the lake for a long time before finally turning to Harry. 

_ I wish I had seen you, all those years ago. _ He says, regret lacing his tone. _ Wish I could have waited for you in a way that would have made you proud. _

_ You’re not real _. He mutters. Tom smiles at him, the smile oddly gentle. 

Harry wakes up sobbing and when Pomfrey tries to comfort him, thinking the nightmares are from the day before, he doesn’t correct her. There’s no good way to tell her that he’s still dreaming of a sixteen year old Tom Riddle. Of a boy that looks at him with regret and makes Harry wish for things that will never be. 

.

.

.

.

“My dear boy, I’ve heard rumors that you’re being bullied.” Dumbledore says, eyes twinkling.

“You say that is if you care about me at all.” he says cooly, refuses to meet the old coots eyes.

“Well, I’m certainly sorry that you feel that way.” Dumbledore says, “Maybe you can —”

“You don’t have one either.” Tom cuts in, not letting him finish his sentence. 

Dumbledore pauses, blinks. “I’m sorry. What don’t I have?” 

“A soulmate. You’re all _ alone _.” Tom spits, ignores the way Dumbledore’s eyes harden. The way the twinkle disappears. “You’re not special, not any better than me.”

There’s a long moment where Dumbledore doesn’t say anything, just stares at Tom with hard eyes and twitching fingers. 

“As it so happens, I do have a soulmate.” he finally says, voice as hard as his eyes. “However, that’s really none of your concern, dear boy.”

Tom opens his mouth to argue back but shuts it as the door bangs open.

“It’s getting rather close to curfew. Goodnight Tom.”

.

.

.

.

_ ...And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... _

The first time he hears the prophecy his heart drops and lodges somewhere near his toes. The flowers in his chest finally finish withering away and he wonders if this is what it’s like to finally lose hope. 

It’s fate, Dumbledore says. There is nothing that you can do to outrun it and for the first time the word fate feels like a curse. Like, a chain tying him to a future he never asked for. 

“He created Horcruxes. Seven of them to be exact.” Dumbledore says, staring out the window. “You destroyed one in your second year.” 

Harry twitches, stares. Is that what Tom had been? A horcrux. He thinks of the way Voldemort had stared at him in the graveyard. Eyes dark and knowing. Thinks of the boy in his dreams who says things he shouldn’t.

Wonders if he’s hurtling straight towards his own ruin. 

Wonders if Tom will be waiting there on the other side?

.

.

.

.

She’s eleven years old and the world is at her fingertips. There are so many options, so many things she wants to do. 

_ You could be great. _ He whispers. Voice warm, trailing over her thoughts like honey. _ You could have them all bowing at your feet. _

She wavers, hesitates. Lets him see the _ want _ lingering under her thoughts. Later she’ll look back and think _ oh, that was the turning point. The point I could have escaped. _

Later, she’ll wonder if she could have saved him. Could have saved them all from the heartbreak and the pain that was to follow. 

.

.

.

.

The mirror is taunting him. 

He’s been staring at it since he woke up. Back against the bed, knees curled up to his chest. There’s only minutes left until the sun reaches its highest point and he wants to throw up. 

Wants to scream, cry. Beg fate to not do what he is so sure she’s going to do. 

He knows how this end. Has felt it in his bones for years but never acknowledged it. 

He breathes in. Glances out the window and slowly stands up. 

Breathes out. Looks in the mirror. For a moment it’s just his own face. Dark circles under his eyes and hair even more a disaster than usual from running his hands through it. 

He looks haunted. 

Suddenly, the image flickers. He breathes in sharply, fingers digging into his palms. It wavers for a moment, caught between times. 

Then, _ just as he had known it would be, _there in the mirror is Tom. Looking the same as he always has in Harry’s dreams. Eyes full of sorrow and a seemingly permanent downturned tilt to his lips. 

Harry jolts forward, hands outstretched but just as suddenly as he appeared he disappears. 

He laughs. Sinks back down to the floor and just laughs until his sides hurt. Laughs until he cries. Until he feels as if his chest is going to tear open from the force of his grief. 

Of course, of course, of course. There had never been any other way for this end. 

This is how Ginny finds him. Back to the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. There are still tear tracks on his cheeks and he stares at her blankly when she walks in. 

“I’m going to see him too.” she says, shutting the door behind her. 

He flinches. “You can’t know that.” he says, voice hoarse from crying. 

She smiles at him mirthlessly. “I was eleven years old and he was in my head for almost a full year.” she says, eyes dark with anger. “I still dream of him.”

His blood runs cold. “You what?” he whispers, digging his fingers even deeper into his palms. 

“I _ still _ dream of him. Of him, always standing somewhere windy, always saying I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for you.” she spits and he can see tears starting to form at the corner of her eyes. 

“Merlin. Ginny, “ he swallows, licks his lips. “Ginny, I dream of the same thing. Of him always staring at me with sad eyes, saying I wish I would have seen you.” 

The color drains from her face. “They’re not dreams.” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “How can they not be dreams?” 

He stares at her, feeling his hands shake. Holds his arm out to her and lets her curl up next to him, head on his shoulder. They couldn’t have Tom but at least they had each other. 

At least they weren’t alone in the knowledge of who their souls belonged to. 

.

.

.

.

He’s standing on a beach. The sky is dark and his hair is a mess from the wind. The dreams always start like this. Start with him next to some body of water, start with the wind. She wonders what it means. What it says about her subconscious that all of her dreams start like this. 

There’s always this period right at the beginning where he doesn’t look at her. Almost like he doesn't even realize she’s there. Although, he always ends up turning towards her eventually and his eyes are always full of grief. 

She hates it. Hates that even now, four years later, she’s still wishing for him to regret what he did to her. Still wishing that he would look at her and see _ her. _

_ I’m sorry _ . He says, voice carrying on the wind. He’s always sorry. _ I wish I could have known. Wish I’d seen you. _

_ I hate you. _ She spits, hates that even in her dreams her hands are trembling with the urge to reach out and touch him. 

He smiles softly, eyes gentle. He had _ never, never _ looked at her like that before. Not when she was eleven and naive. Not when she was eleven and the life was draining out of her on the chamber floor. Not when she had fucking cried and begged him to save her. 

_ I deserve that. _ He says, turns back to the water. _ I deserve that from both of you. At least you have each other. I’m happy for that at least. _

She stares. What did that mean? He had never said that, not in the four years he had haunted her dreams. 

_ What do you mean? _She asks, voice sharp. 

She wakes up before he answers and puts her fist through the wall. 

.

.

.

.

There’s sunlight filtering through the branches. Casting strange shadows and flickering across his skin as he walks. 

It feels wrong that the sun is shining while people are dying. Feels wrong that the world can still be moving when he feels as if his heart has forgotten how to beat out a steady tempo. 

_ For neither can live while the other survives. _He should have known. As soon as they had figured out that the dreams weren’t only dreams, he should have known. 

Of course there’s a horcrux living in his head. Of fucking course. He doesn’t know why he thought this would in any way have a happy ending. Hates that he had dared to hope he could live out a happy life with Ginny. 

Maybe, maybe if it was just his life on the line, he’d say no. Maybe he’d be selfish and keep the Tom in his dreams. The Tom that stares at him with sad eyes and touches him with gentle hands. 

But he’s never been able to be selfish when it comes to his friends. He would move the world for them. He’s always said that he would die for them and now he will. 

Once upon a time, a little boy with red hair and too many freckles had taught Harry what the word home meant. Had said here, I don’t have much but what I do have is yours. My family is already just a little too large but there’s always been room for you. 

There had been a girl with too much hair and words that always landed a little too sharply. She had taken his hand and said _ always. _ No matter what happens we are yours and you are ours. We will never leave your side, Harry Potter. 

He enters the clearing just as Voldemort looks towards Hogwarts. Voldemort freezes, eyes bright. 

“Harry Potter.” he murmurs, taking a step forward. “The boy who lived come to die.” 

Harry says nothing. Stares and thinks of Tom. Thinks of what he could have accomplished, of how great they would have been. 

Voldemort tilts his head and Harry can see his hand clenched around his wand. “I will never understand you, Harry Potter.” he says. 

The death eaters shift uncomfortably, unsure of the reason for the tension between Harry and Voldemort. Even Bellatrix is unusually quiet. 

“I hope you enjoy the dark.” he says, watches Voldemort's eyes narrow. “Because that is what the rest of your life is going to be.” 

“Goodbye, Harry Potter.” he says and then in between one breath and the next, Harry falls to the ground. 

.

.

.

.

He opens his eyes to white. Nothing but white as far his eyes can see. 

After another moment's consideration he decided it’s Kings Cross station. There’s no train but the pillars, the benches, the tracks are all there. 

It’s quiet. Not the calm quiet of the forest or the eerie silence of the chamber. Just unnaturally silent. As if there is truly nothing alive left in existence except for Harry. Although, he supposes that’s the point, since he is no longer alive. 

“You’re supposed to release it.” 

The sudden voice behind him causes him to yelp and nearly fall off the bench. He sucks in a startled breath, standing behind him is Dumbledore. 

“Release what?” he asks, trying to breathe around the shock. 

“The soul piece that is latched onto your own. You have to release it, Harry.” Dumbledore says, eyebrows drawn together, twinkle absent. 

“I —” he starts, stutters, feels his blood turn to ice. “Why hasn’t it released on its own?” 

Dumbledore frowns, clasps his hands together. “Because, Harry my boy, you don’t want it to.” 

Harry swallows, tugs at his shirt. “Why does it matter?” he finally asks, tongue feeling like cotton in his mouth. “I’m dead, so why should it matter?” 

Dumbledore smiles at him sadly. “You’re not quite dead yet. You still have a choice to make.” 

He stares, swallows again, brings his hand up to tap at his chest. “And if I don’t release it?” he asks, throat tight. 

“I can’t tell you that.” Dumbledore says, disapproval clear in his voice. 

“The same way you couldn’t tell me that I was a horcrux?”

“No, not the same at all.” he says, but he won’t hold Harry’s eyes. 

Harry straightens, stills his hands. “I won’t release him. That’s my choice.” he says, voice firm. Thinks briefly of Ron and Hermione, hopes the certainty in his gut isn’t wrong. 

Dumbledore stares at him, eyes wide with horror. “She said you’d say that.” he murmurs. 

Harry narrows his eyes but doesn’t ask. 

“I want to go back.” 

Dumbledore sighs, gives Harry a small smile. “Very well, dear boy. I wish you luck.” 

.

.

.

.

The first thing he hears is Bellatrix sobbing. Sobbing in that loud, obnoxious way that women have when they’re unsure of how else to display their grief. 

The second thing he hears is _ Tom _. 

“Dear Merlin, woman. Would you be quiet.” the voice snaps and it’s so indisputably Tom and not Voldemort that Harry bolts upright, forgetting that he’s supposed to be dead. 

Tom is sitting on the ground, hair a mess and his eyes snap over immediately to meet Harry’s. Their eyes meet and Harry breathes easy for the first time in months because for a split second he sees that same soft look in Tom’s eyes that he remembers from his dreams. 

Tom stands up, graceful in a way that Harry will never be. The clearing has gone quiet again. He doesn’t know what happened while they were both out but the death eaters are staring between them, fear on all of their faces. 

He twirls his wand between his fingers, glancing from Harry to his death eaters. 

“Avada Kedavra.” he says suddenly, pointing his wand. There’s a collective flinch from all of the death eaters as Bellatrix falls to the ground. 

Harry doesn’t flinch and Tom’s eyes light up. He moves forward, towards where Harry is sitting cross legged on the ground. 

“Harry Potter.” he murmurs, crouching down in front of Harry. “Defier of death.”

Harry swallows, mouth dry. “Tom Riddle. Dream walker.” he says, feeling as if his heart is going to beat out of his chest. 

Tom smirks, reaches out and puts a finger under Harry’s chin, tilts his head up. “For you, I would go anywhere,” he murmurs, drags a thumb across Harry’s bottom lip. “Would defeat any challenge set in front of me.” 

Harry’s breath catches, mouth parted in surprise. His brain feels like static, he absently wonders if he’s still dead. 

Tom stands, turns back towards the death eaters. 

“I have bad news for all of you.” he says, not sounding remotely sorry. “You’re all going to turn yourselves in.” he says and a hush falls across the clearing. 

Harry hadn’t even realized that the death eaters had been whispering amongst themselves until it’s suddenly deathly silent again. 

“Except for you.” he says, pointing at a seemingly random death eater close to him. “You’re going to actually have the honor of being me.” he says, smirks into the silence and then just as casually he murders the death eater he had singled out. 

“You can’t make us turn ourselves in.” a voice suddenly says and after a moment of squinting at the man Harry recognizes him as Dolohov. The absolute asshole who had scarred Hermione last year in the ministry. 

Tom grins, a bright savage thing. “Oh, I was so hoping someone would say that.” he says, laughter coating his words. “Because I think you’ll find that I can.” he tilts his head and for a second there’s silence and then all of the death eaters in front of them fall to their knees screaming. 

“Well, I was coming to rescue your dumb ass but I see that you’re doing quite fine on your own.” 

Harry flinches, lurching to his feet at the voice suddenly behind him. Tom glances over, eyes still bright and smiles. A genuine, honest smile that leaves Harry’s knees weak. 

“Ginevra. I was wondering when you would join us.” he says, turning his attention back to the screaming death eaters. 

Ginny is leaning against a tree, brow furrowed as she stares at the scene before her. 

“Harry Potter. What did you do?” she asks, voice incredulous and body tense. 

“I died.” he says, ignores the way her whole body flinches. “I died and when they told me to give up the piece of Tom’s soul that was in my own I said no.” 

She stares. The screaming stops. Tom glances back over at Ginny, uncertainty starting to show in his eyes. 

She closes her eyes eventually. Breathes in through her nose and rubs at her temple. 

“Of course you did.” she mutters, lets out a sharp laugh. “Of course you would tell the powers to be no.” she laughs again, the sound lighter. 

Tom huffs. “No need to sound so pleased, sweetheart.”

“Don’t sweetheart me,” she snaps. “I spent five years hating you. I think most of me still hates you. Being my soulmate doesn’t change that.” 

“It’s the same for me.” Harry finally says, voice low. “I spent the past seven years hating you and grieving you in equal parts. We’ll help you with whatever you’re doing right now but this is going to take work on all of our ends.” 

There’s a pause while Tom stares at them, eyes considering. 

“I spent fifty five years thinking that I didn’t have a soulmate.” he says the words slowly, as if he’s feeling the shape of them. “I’ve been given a second chance for unknown reasons. I think that I can find it within myself to put forth the work needed to keep not one but two soulmates.”

“You were a gift.” the words tear out of him without his permission. 

Tom and Ginny both turn to stare at him in shock. 

“Excuse me?” Tom says just as Ginny goes “What the fuck, Harry?” 

They all stare at each other, eyes wide. 

“Right.” Harry says, clears his throat. “Let’s do something about the war still technically going and then talk about this.” 

Tom smiles. “Of course, dear. But first, I have something I’d like to do.” He steps forward, right into Harry’s space. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” he murmurs, burying one hand in Harry’s hair and the other hand circling around Harry’s wrist. 

Harry feels his breath catch. _ Oh, _he thinks as Tom’s lips finally touch his. Tom kisses like he has something to prove. Harry sighs, presses himself closer. Tom licks his way into Harry’s mouth and bites at his bottom lip. Tugs at his hair and Harry fucking moans. Fucking presses himself as close as he can get without crawling under Tom’s skin. 

When Tom finally pulls back Harry stares at him dazed, mind blank. Watches, eyes wide as Tom reaches for Ginny’s wrist. As he pulls her closer and presses her up right up next to both of them. One hand dropping down to Harry’s hip so that he can keep him close and one hand on Ginny’s back, holding her close as well. 

Ginny tips her head back, hair spilling like fire down her back and grins up at Tom. 

“We’re all going to have so much fun.” she says, smiles into Tom’s kiss. 

Harry takes her hand, feels her pulse jumping beneath his fingers. Runs a hand down Tom’s chest and watches the way he seems to be trying to strain his body towards them both. 

After several more kisses exchanged between them all Tom finally pulls away, eyes dark with want. 

“We’re going to be great.” he says, voice full of promise. 

Ginny smiles, eyes bright. Harry squeezes Ginny’s hand and watches Tom turn back to clean up his mess. 

Feels the flowers in his chest tentatively begin weaving their way in and out of his ribs again. 

.

.

.

.

Once upon a time there was a boy who heard a legend about soulmates. About how, there is always _ always _ someone out there that will fill the holes in your chest. 

Once upon a time a little boy with bright eyes and a naive soul, stared at the stars and wished not just for a soulmate but for a family. 

Once upon a time a little girl dreamed of sunshine and warmth. Of someone who would see her for who she really was, not just what the world deemed her to be. 

Fate sits in her chair and stares at their threads, at their never ending, intertwining lives. Death stands in the clearing and watches as the children who defied death find each other. 

In another life, Voldemort lies dead in a courtyard and Harry has to live his life ignoring the gaping hole in his soul. Ginny has to live with the dreams of _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry _ for the rest of her life. 

In this life though. In this life, they are whole. 

  
_Fin._


End file.
